Blood and Violets
by freckled cecil
Summary: A smutty Dave x Rose one-shot. Art by manlysparkle.


It had started with the nauseously intoxicated feeling he got when he was around her.

Like he was swallowing thick blood, running in rivers down his throat. He wasn't quite sure how or when it had started happening. One day he'd seen her in one of her vein purple dresses, the ones inciting a vaguely hopeless aura around their wearer, as if the darkened fabric winding around her pale knees was a metaphor of the dejection he suspected often suffocated her heart. He'd felt something stirring in his own circulatory system. That ever-familiar sickness. A lust for something to end it all, to end his consciousness, but at the same time, a lust for her, a lust for her full lips, ever turned up in a mocking smile when she faced him.

Mocking. Mocking. That smile, always tormenting him. Every time she looked at him, it was with indulgent disgust. He knew she considered him the worthless scum. And it fucking turned him on.

He went into her bedroom one day. Perhaps not intentionally gone there so much as found himself there. Headphones hanging cold around his neck. Her room was cold and dark, and the moment he entered it his nostrils filled with the smell of heavy incense. Something that hadn't been there before. A dizzying blend. Thick brown spice and the petals she was named after. It only intensified the disgusting lust he felt every time he was around her. She was on her bed, spine curved elegantly over a volume of something obscure and ancient.

He uttered some hazy word of greeting. She looked up at him, surveyed him condescendingly, and replied. He asked what she was so absorbed in. Some title he'd never be able to remember, she answered.

He laughed uncomfortably and stood there, hands shoved in his pockets.

She sat up, criss-crossed her legs, watched him attentively. He felt his tongue run unintentionally across his lips. Her eyes, violet-amber reflecting off the stark yellow square streaming in from the hallway through the open door, noted the movement. His head felt hazy. Had he consumed some sort of paraphernalia and forgotten about it? Looking at her, he felt dizzy. He did the only thing he'd ever done. Speak.

"I can't believe you don't think I'm cool. You really need to adjust your perspective on the world. Then you'd see the hot piece of ass you have as a brother." He said.

Brother. Brother. She was his sister. The thought fled from his mind like sinking into fire. Just gone. Irrelevant.

She smirked. "I'm afraid you're wrong about that. My outlook on this life won't affect my outlook on you. You'll always be naive and, frankly, completely and unironically uncool. You should drop your illusions about yourself. They'll just come back to hurt you later when you realize they're not true."

"Hah." His breath felt hot as he pushed it out. "At least I'm not locked up in my room all day, thinking all suicidal and reading shitty books about people who were dead centuries ago. If they even existed in the first place."

"My books are not shitty. They're incredibly intellectual. A concept you wouldn't understand." She pursed her lips in confident mocking.

"Are we going to talk about not understanding concepts?" His legs moved without warning. He was two, three steps closer to her. The action was calm and collected, but his insides were crumbling. His ribs were cracking, his lungs were lit up by cigarette fire and the smell of that godfucking incense. "Because if we are, I've got one for you. Having fun. You wouldn't know having fun if it came up and bit you in your stupid fucking ass."

He came a step closer. Stop, stop, he was telling himself. He set the thoughts on fire. They curled up, burning like paper, into black bitterness and died. He didn't care. He didn't care. He felt nauseous. He wanted to touch her.

"You think I don't know about having fun?" She raised her eyebrows slightly and crossed her arms.

Touch her. Touch her. Touch her. Touch her. He fucking hated her and she fucking hated him and he wanted to fuck her and he couldn't breathe and

"Of course not." He quirked a smile, attempting to match her condescension. He didn't even come close. She was the queen of thinking people were pathetic and making them feel even more so.

"Well, you're wrong about that, dear." She slid her legs out from beneath her, spread them across the bed, wide open, the folds of her long skirt still lapping to cover what was underneath. He felt his jaw clench.

"Really? Am I, now?" He slowly backed up to the door, keeping his eyes on her as he quietly closed it. She watched him, face triumphant, face disgusted.

He walked back towards her like a stoned man. The air was thick and his every step was not a step at all; more like a float just above the ground. He couldn't feel anything. Anything at all.

Except wanting her.

"Absolutely. I know all about having fun." She said. Still smiling. Still smiling. He was hovering right next to her bed now, right in front of her, her feet bare and her tea-and-cream thighs so close to him.

"Huh." He slowly leaned forwards. His head felt hot. His face felt hot. Hot and dizzy and naught of feeling. Thick. Moving through nothing.

"I'm not sure I believe you." One knee was on the bed, between her legs. She shifted slightly, leaning back, her hands behind her.

The other knee was on the bed. The nausea was growing stronger. But the lust threatened to overwhelm it.

"You might have to…" His hands moved on his own. Creeping towards her legs. Closer. Her skirt was silky soft. Purple like those fake roses they sold at garden stores. Pale, pale lilac. Or deep, deep like blood when there was no more blood left to come out. Dark. Cold. His knuckles trembled. Closer.

"... you might have to prove it to me." His arm reached farther. Fingers slipped through the thin layer of cotton - he didn't know what color it was, he didn't care, it didn't matter - and into what laid underneath.

Tender. Warm. Vulnerable. His fingers curled around her pelvic hair, stroking it for a fleeting moment before moving back to the tea colored skin and everything else waiting lower down.

He didn't want to just see it. He wanted to feel it.

She was motionless, staring at his face, not where he was now reaching his other hand. He met her shining eyes for a moment. Glazed over and unreadable. No - wait - not unreadable.

Glittering with something. Glittering like the amethyst sequins that had showered all over them and all the other insignificant strangers on Prom Night a month or two ago. He'd gone because she'd made him. It had been another empty, emotionless night.

What were her eyes glittering with? Why wasn't she resisting? He didn't care. He pushed up the soft of her skirt slowly despite the hunger roaring through every cell in his despicable body. Her thighs were exposed in the moonlight. They looked pale. So pale. Deathly white.

He slid off her underwear. A dark maroon color. Red and purple. Blood and violets.

When they were halfway down her legs, he looked at her again.

Her eyes - glazed over and glittering. With - unbelievably, yet unmistakably - hunger.

He descended. His tongue went everywhere. Drooling, making a disgusting mess. She was fleshy, floppy and when his mouth backed up and his fingers took control, he got a good look at her. Pulled open her legs even more. Pressed hard against and into each of her holes. He felt her tremble. Slightly. So slightly.

He looked back at her and she was staring at him. Slowly, deliberately she removed his headphones from around his neck and dropped them on the floor next to the bed. She yanked her skirt off completely, getting it out of the way, and in a fluid, careless movement both of her upper layers were gone. He tried to move towards her again but she stopped him once more. Grabbed at his skinny jeans. Trembling, he fumbled with the zipper. Once. Twice. Hands suddenly shaking too hard to function. She watched him and then unzipped them for him with arousing expertise. They cascaded onto the ground with the rest of their garments. They stared at one another and then she moved closer to him. She grabbed at his rear, pushing him closer to her, and guided his architecture into her. He was surrounded in heat. He felt everything and nothing all at once. He pressed harder.

She let out a faint, quick moan and dug her hands into his ass. Harder. Running her fingers through him. Pushing him closer in. Harder. She trembled. She pushed herself closer to him and sucked his collarbone. He felt his lips circle around her breasts, tongue flicking in and out, tickling her nipple, and then he felt himself grow hotter and hotter and his jaw clenched. He was biting and she was clawing at his back, tearing into his skin, biting back gasps, digging into the back of him, trying to push him in further, tearing at the holes that he had, digging her fingers into them, harder, pushing as hard as she could, as if she was trying to kill him.

He was halfway convinced she was.

"Don't tell me…" Her voice was trembling with lust, her breath staining his ears, and he wanted more, only more - "d-don't… t-tell me… I don't know how to have a good time."

And then they pushed even harder than before, putting everything into it, and he could have sworn he felt the galaxy trapped down there where they met, and all over his body, too, and all over hers, countless stars and constellations, more and more and more and more and harder and -

He felt flowing, even more than before, and he was gasping and panting and they finally separated themselves, but before he could catch his breath she was down on top of him, like an animal, sucking on him, grabbing at him, biting, and he felt pain and ecstasy and infinity and as he flowed into her mouth, the fact that she kept going, trying to swallow it, just turned her on that much more.

And when they finally stopped they watched one another.

Not saying a word. Not a word.

Down there she was like flower petals. Soft, easy to break. Like her flower petals. Tender roses.

She was Rose. His sister. And he didn't give a fuck. About any of it.

Except about making sure that he'd get to make this happen again. Feel the flowers flashing through his mind between glimpses of her hidden parts, and feel blood flowing through his body, down to where he was erect and hard and oh, oh, he loved her so.


End file.
